


in all chaos there is calculation

by hydrochaeris



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, angst angst angst, with a side bonus of whimsical fairytale-like settings because why not
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-27
Updated: 2016-11-27
Packaged: 2018-09-02 15:56:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8673523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hydrochaeris/pseuds/hydrochaeris
Summary: He didn’t ever think they’d get tired of each other.





	

**Author's Note:**

> this truly wasn't going to be friends to lovers okay this really got away from me but anyway! hope you like ransom and holster fighting because that's 80% of what this is!

It starts simple. Like, Holster accidentally takes Ransom’s favorite pen, and then Ransom pushes Holster’s laptop charger under the bottom bunk and forgets to take it back out a few days later. And then Holster uses up the last of the hot water the next morning before Ransom’s out of bed, so yeah, that fucking sucks. And Ransom has a headache and Holster’s voice, which he usually tones down around Ransom, is all big and booming and _annoying_ as he whines about some asshole on the quad, and yeah, Ransom doesn’t fucking care that Holster’s upset when it’s making his head pound so loud he can’t hear his own thoughts.

“Jesus—can you just—bro, can you shut up for a moment?” he says, trying to massage his temples subtly. Or not so subtly—god, Holster doesn’t have to be the only drama queen in his attic sometimes. “It’s been a long day.”

“Yeah, it fucking has,” Holster says. “And I’m trying to tell you about it—could you fucking listen to me instead of just glare at your laptop, okay, I’m trying to get this shit off my chest.” He looks frustrated, brow all tight knit and jaw clenched, and—Ransom just doesn’t care, sorry, _sorry_ , he has a report due tomorrow and if it’s not fucking flawless he’s going to lose it—“You could’ve worked on that report yesterday, you know. Or the day before that. I can’t believe the biggest perfectionist I know is such a procrastinator.”

And that—yeah. Ransom isn’t gonna fucking lose it. He’s not being the inconsiderate one here. Holster can fuck right off if he’s gonna insult Ransom’s homework habits like he doesn’t do the exact same shit, he just doesn’t care about his grades as much as Ransom does so it doesn’t _matter_ to him when he gets a B on something done at the last minute.

“Get out,” Ransom says, very quietly, and Holster stops pacing in the middle of the attic and gives Ransom the most withering puppy dog eyes the world has ever seen. “Bro. I mean it. Get out.”

“We _share this attic_ , Justin—” Oh, okay, they’re on a first name basis now? Fine. Ransom knows what that means and honestly—fine. Fuck this. He types out some nonsense on his keyboard just so Holster thinks he’s working. “You know what? I will get out. You’ve been getting on my nerves this whole fucking week, actually. So I will get the fuck out. And I’m taking your laptop charger with me.”

He yanks it from Ransom’s laptop because he is extra as fuck, and slams the door behind him. Ransom stares at the fake wood grain of his desk. He can hear Holster storming down the stairs, not stomping effectively because he’s in socks, and yeah, it’s a little fucking funny. Except that he has the feeling he just broke up with his best friend, which, you know. He could do without.

-

Lardo doesn’t knock before she enters the attic a few hours later. She also doesn’t speak, which Ransom appreciates. He is actually trying to get this report as good as it gets, contrary to what _someone_ thinks. God. He isn’t gonna think about—whatever. He’s not gonna think about it.

She sits on the bottom bunk, scrolling through her phone, and doesn’t look up till much later, when Ransom shuts his laptop with a definitive clack. It was losing battery fast, anyway. He may as well call that report quits.

“Hey,” Lardo says. She is so quiet and grounding. It’s a goddamn relief. “You done with that report?”

“He told you.” Ransom’s voice is flat. He doesn’t mean to be rude, he just doesn’t want to talk about it—wishes Holster had taken his advice to shut up for once.

“Nah. You guys were yelling pretty loud, so. It carried.” She tilts her head, not in an inquisitive manner, more like just something to do. “He’s gone. Refused Bitty’s pie, too, so I guess it was pretty bad. Are you okay?”

Ransom considers. He is the fucking master of repressing his emotions, so it’s not an easy question.

“Um. I guess.”

“Cool,” she says. “You want to play Mario Kart downstairs?”

“Fuck yeah.”

-

Their frog year, Holster had once dragged Ransom out of bed at 6 in the morning on a Saturday to explore the campus—“Fred-and-George-ing it,” he’d said, in a reference that Ransom did not understand but had obliged. The early morning dew had glistened heavy on finely trimmed blades of grass as they ran across the quad, muffling laughter, their strides almost in sync. Samwell was host to a fuckton of trees, and as they ran deeper into the forest that made up most of the campus perimeter, they’d had to duck low hanging limbs and dodge startled animals that disappeared into the brush as quickly as they had crashed through it.

Holster had finally skidded to a stop, Ransom close on his heels.

“What—” he’d started, but Holster shushed him, grinning.

“Look around, bro. Look.”

Ransom looked at the clearing they’d stumbled into. There was a massive rotting log laying across most of it, the grass long and untamed and blowing, lazily, in the morning breeze. Bright patches of flowers sprung up here and there. The air was thick with the sound of birds singing, insects buzzing, wind whistling.

“It’s so fucking beautiful,” Holster had said, and Ransom matched his grin.

“You’re fucking weird, bro. It’s a haven for allergies. And ticks.”

“Hey, what’s—” Holster sprinted a few yards forward, jumping the log, and peered down at something. “ _Bro_. Look down here, in the grass. It’s a tunnel!”

“For snakes?” Ransom had peered dubiously over his shoulder. “Oh, holy shit, it’s huge. And stone?”

“An old sewer, I think. Or just a random ass tunnel. Bro, this is so fucking cool, it’s like we’re real explorers!”

Ransom laughed.

“God, you’re such a nerd.”

“You love it, though.” Holster had turned his head then, and they were so fucking close, and yeah, Ransom wasn’t an idiot—he knew there wasn’t anyone else he would’ve gotten out of bed for at 6 in the morning and potentially risked Lyme disease for—he knew, he’d known for awhile, how far fucking gone he was. Holster’s eyes matched the sky. What a fucking stupid cliché that was.

They didn’t kiss.

-

“This is your first big argument with him, right?” Lardo says. There’s two slices of steaming pie sandwiched between them on the potentially hazardous couch. Ransom falls right the fuck off of Rainbow Road.

“Um. Yes.”

“Okay. Just wondering.”

-

It’s like 9 pm, and Holster still isn’t back. Lardo retreated to her room a few hours ago without a word. Bitty had tried to talk to him, but Ransom had just taken increasingly bigger mouthfuls of pie till he got the hint. It’s blueberry crumble, which is Holster’s favorite. Not that Ransom gives a fuck about Holster. Even though it’s been dark out for four hours now because winter is hell, and Ransom hasn’t seen him since about 7 am. That’s not his fucking problem. If Holster wants to be dramatic—god, Ransom was the one who’d told him to get out in the first place. He’ll hold Holster to his word.

For no reason other than pure compulsion, Ransom opens Excel. He’d dug Holster’s charger out from under the bed, so his laptop is at 100% now. He enters some random ass data points and does every data analysis test he can think of, which unfortunately is a bad way to kill time since Ransom has most of the algorithms memorized. It’s only 9:04 when the door bangs open. He slouches a little further into the couch so his head can’t be seen over top of it. He knows exactly how Holster’s feet sound on the Haus’s creaky ass floorboards, exactly where he distributes weight when he walks (way too much on the insteps of his feet, the rest on his heels, almost none on his toes or the balls of his feet because Holster is _weird_ ), so he knows who just came in. Holster opens a few cupboards in the kitchen loudly—Ransom is mildly shocked when Bitty doesn’t materialize to tell him off—then closes them.

It takes him an embarrassingly long minute to realize Holster knows he’s there, in the living room. He’s just not doing anything about it because Holster is the most stubborn fucking person and wants Ransom to come groveling to him first.

Well.

Ransom waits till Holster heaves a dramatic, overly loud sigh, and trudges up the stairs to the attic before he lets the tears come.

The pipes groan. Holster obviously used the bathroom. He’s probably changing now, into his clothes for the next day because Holster doesn’t believe in pajamas but does believe that some wrinkled clothes never killed anyone, which Ransom will never understand.

He calls Dami, which maybe isn’t his smartest idea. But at least he knows how to keep his voice down. Unlike, you know, whoever.

“Justin? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. How’s school?”

He can basically hear the eyeroll.

“School is whatever, Justin. Why’re you calling? It’s not Christmas yet, in case you were wondering.”

“I don’t only call on holidays.”

Now he can hear her eyebrows raise.

“Sure. But seriously, is something wrong?”

He’s still crying, which is kind of annoying. Tears just won’t stop coming out of his eyes, onto his face, and dripping off his chin. God. Pathetic.

“Nah, I just—I sort of had a fight with Holster.”

“What, really? You mean—like a serious fight? You guys fight all the time over stupid stuff.”

“I told him to get out of the attic.”

“…Don’t you share the attic?”

“Yeah. We do.”

There’s a moment of silence.

“Uh, okay. Jesus, I don’t know what you want me to say. You guys love each other more than I thought was humanly possible, so like, are you just gonna get over it?”

“He’s being stubborn. He wants me to come to him first, I can tell.” Ransom pushes his socked foot into the coffee table and frowns. “I hate it when he does shit like that. He’s so dramatic, Dami.”

“Yeah, well, he’s also your best friend. You don’t think _you’re_ being a little stubborn either, do you?”

“It’s only been a day. I can go without him for longer than a day.” He sniffles, then stiffens up immediately. Dammit. Fuck. Dammit.

“Are you _crying_?”

“No.”

“Don’t you lie to me, Justin. Wow, I sound like Mom, uh, anyway. He’s probably crying too, you know.”

“That’s low, Dami.”

“Toughen up, Justin.” He can hear the concern in her voice so clearly it kills him. “Really, though. Do you want me to call him?”

“What? _No_! God, no. Don’t do that.”

 “Okay. Jeez.”

There’s some more silence. Ransom tips his head onto the back of the couch and exhales quietly. He can hear his sister breathing, and it’s calming. He almost doesn’t register when he speaks again.

“I never thought we’d get tired of each other.”

Dami sighs.

“Justin, if I were there, I’d hug you right now, you know that?”

“Love you, Dami.”

“I love you too. You better sleep well tonight, or I’ll come down there and kick your ass.”

She ends the call, and he smiles, can’t help it. His little sister is the best little sister he could’ve asked for, even if she does sound more and more like his mother as they age.

When he goes into the attic, Holster is snoring—definitely not fake, he’s really asleep. Ransom changes into pajamas and climbs up to his bunk, where his head hits the pillow almost immediately.

Or it would, if there wasn’t something between it and the pillow.

Ransom bites his tongue so he doesn’t fucking scream. He reaches under his head and squints at the object that obstructed him from sleep. He doesn’t have bad vision, unlike someone he knows, so it doesn’t take all that long to identify it.

It’s his favorite pen.

-

When he wakes up, Holster is gone, and the smell of team breakfast is wafting temptingly from the kitchen. Ransom brushes his teeth and skips a shower, even though he has a feeling there’d be plenty of hot water.

He goes downstairs shirtless and slightly rumpled, probably from moving in his sleep way too much. He tends to get restless, especially when he doesn’t feel well. Bitty greets him brightly, and he responds in kind, shoveling pancakes and strawberries onto his plate. Ransom almost doesn’t register that there’s a note scribbled onto his napkin till he’s halfway done with his food and is about to use it to wipe his mouth.

_Meet me?_

_—A_

It doesn’t say where, or when, but knowing Holster, it’s as soon as possible. He also thinks the ‘A’ might be a reference to some TV show, since Holster usually signs his shit ‘H,’ but it could just as well be Holster being pretentious as fuck.

“Thanks, Bits,” he says, bypassing Chowder on his way out the door. Ransom puts on a jacket and shoes before he leaves, because it’s winter and he’s Canadian, but he has the feeling they’re not meeting indoors.

-

“If this thing really is a sewer, I hope you shower for an hour after this,” Ransom says by way of greeting. It’s kind of fun to watch Holster jump out of his skin, till he turns around and Ransom realizes he’s been crying. His nose is running a little and his whole face is a big red, tear-streaked blotch. His glasses are askew on his nose. Ransom crouches down next to him and straightens them before he can really think about what he’s doing.

“I’m really sorry,” Holster says, wiping the back of his hand under his nose. “I fucking hate fighting with you.”

“Yeah, man, I know,” says Ransom before realizing he probably should make a proper apology. “I’m sorry too. God, this place sucks in the winter. Everything’s dead.”

“No allergy risk, though,” Holster offers, and Ransom nods.

“And the ticks are all dead and in hell where they belong.”

Holster’s grin wobbles, like maybe he’s not sure if it’s okay for him to smile at Ransom’s jokes right now. Which, who knows. Maybe it’s not.

“Hey, I fucking love you, man,” Ransom says. “Sorry for being a piece of shit earlier. You’re right, I do need to stop procrastinating so much. And I need to hear you out when you rant, it’s not cool of me to tell you to shut up.”

“Yeah, but I rant like, all the time. And I should never be loud around you, especially when you have a headache. That was a major dick move. Also, I love you more.”

“No _fucking_ way! That’s literally impossible, bro.”

“Man, fuck Excel and what it says, I totally love you m—”

“Okay first, never say ‘fuck Excel’ ever again,” Ransom says, and gets Holster in a headlock for about two seconds before he escapes and descends on Ransom in a bear hug that knocks both of them over.

“I actually do love you, like, so much,” Holster says. His face is smushed into Ransom’s chest and they’re both giggling, but the meaning comes across anyway. “I’d straight up die for you, honest.”

“That’s kind of gay,” Ransom says, and pulls Holster up to kiss him.

Holster gasps into his mouth and cups Ransom’s jaw in his palms, kissing him back so hard it makes Ransom’s head spin a little. He splays his hand wide over Holster’s lower back, the other gripping the back of Holster’s head and tilting it more into the kiss. They break for air eventually, grinning at each other helplessly. Ransom can’t help angling his head up for one more brief kiss. Then he starts kissing the rest of Holster’s face too, because, well. He can.

Holster looks down at Ransom with a giant smile. “Bro. If I could do one thing for the rest of my life, it’d be kissing you.”

Ransom’s brow scrunches. “But Holtzy, you’ve already told me that if you could do one thing for the rest of your life it’d be rewatch 30 Rock over and over. You’d give up eternal 30 Rock?”

“Chyeah.” Holster snorts. “I said that before we ever kissed.” Ransom still looks at him doubtfully. “Okay, honestly, I’ve seen all the episodes so many times that I could, like, close my eyes and watch them again and again if I wanted. And they’re all fucking great episodes, but I’ve seen them all before, y’know? But kisses with you… they’re all different. You can kiss me in a million different ways in a million different places. So yeah. You over Liz Lemon, any day.”

“That, wow.” Ransom feels his face go warm under Holster’s hands. “That’s the most fucking romantic thing you’ve ever told me, you gigantic shitlord.”

“I mean, according to you, we’re literally in an old sewer, so I do what I can,” he replies.

“Wanna get out of here and go make out in the attic?”

“Fuck yeah.”

-

“A million different ways in a million different places, eh?”

“Shut up, man. Just—I love you, but seriously, shut up.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> what are endings???? (also i may write a sequel because this doesn't feel complete at all lol.) yes the title is from a lorde song, which is from pure heroine which i listened to on repeat while writing this.  
> [main](http://yeahbees.tumblr.com/) | [omgcp sideblog](http://wholsomholsom.tumblr.com/) | [reblog here](http://yeahbees.tumblr.com/post/153749093100/in-all-chaos-there-is-calculation)


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